6.1 Back to the Future

I had a few hours to spare over the holiday break and for some reason found myself sitting through the Back to the Future trilogy. It’s not my fault as the filmmakers played a trick on us naive viewers. At the end of the first movie they already knew a sequel was going to happen and teased the audience about the next instalment. So, it really was not my fault when I sat there for over six hours, basically watching the same movie three times being played out in different historical contexts.
The exploits of Marty McFly, his father George and their inter-generational nemesis Biff, made me think about having a DeLorean of my own. What would I do? Even though it would disrupt the spacetime continuum, I would like a time machine to travel back exactly one year and have a conversation with myself.

I’d like to tell that guy from a year ago that in about a month, he’d be traveling to Russia to work at the Olympics. I know he was quite anxious about this trip and wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. He would be managing a team of eight people and he would do a very good job. Although it will be one of the most stressful jobs he ever did, it will also one of the most rewarding. He’ll learn a lot about just how far he can push himself.

I’d like to tell him that he’ll travel to Costa Rica with about twenty other people. This will be an important trip and will lay the foundation that will grow into essential professional and personal relationships.

I’d like to tell him that the book he’d been working on for years will finally be published. I’ll tell him to trust his publishing company, that they will lead him into new territory. He’ll do something that is very out of character and devise a successful crowdfunding campaign. Out of character because he’s not used to putting his work out there in this way. He should not only trust the publishing company, but trust himself and the work, trust that it’s good enough for people to invest in.

I’d like to tell him that he’d be brought through the process of publishing a book. That he’ll do what he always wanted to: put together a project with people who are amazing and who will take his ideas and make them infinitely better.

I’d like to tell him that the little podcast he co-created would surpass 100 episodes. I want him to understand the importance of this, not just that the podcast made it this far, but that he helped get the stories of these incredible people out there. These conversations are permanent and exist as a record.

I’d like to tell him about this writing group he joined and how this would lead to his secret desire to perform. I’d tell him that after a few months, the others in the writing group will want to start a storytelling event. This would create a place where he will be able to express himself live and in person. That he’ll hear other stories and stand at the back of the room thinking about how he had some small part in creating this space. This will lead to other events. I want to tell him that he’ll soon be performing in front of about 200 people. I don’t think he’ll believe me.

I'd like to tell him that those spells he's had for a few years, those times where he fell into a depression and the only he could do was curl up in a ball on the floor, yeah those spells, they'll start to happen less and less. Maybe one every couple of weeks. Then one a month. Soon, he'll get to a point where - and I'll hesitate to tell him this because they can always return - the spells will just not happen anymore.

I want to tell him that this entry will mark the sixth year of writing this blog. Six years of putting his words out there. Hundreds of posts, tens of thousands of words.